


Where Granite Grows

by demonfox38



Category: Lupin III
Genre: Biology Inaccuracies, Chronic not Terminal, Gen, Hanahaki Disease, Minor Character Death, Possibly emetophobia triggering, Sometimes symbolism can be gross and gorgeous at the same time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24792460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonfox38/pseuds/demonfox38
Summary: Goemon's homesickness has gotten too literal for Lupin and his gang. It should be a simple enough illness to cure. But, today is meant for the dead, not the living. One way or another, Goemon is going to meet his grandmother once more.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

There was a flower in the toilet.

Groggy eyes narrowed. This cluster of mixed up metaphors was not one to be tackled at six in the morning. Flowers were beautiful products of nature that humans projected emotions onto. Toilets were receptacles that humans projected bodily waste into. The two should not be mixing. It was wasteful. Sacrilegious, if one gave a damn about that.

A moan rippled off the surface of the toilet bowl. If it was just a teeny, tiny flower in the toilet, maybe it could have been flushed away. But, no. It just had to get stuck in the mouth of the S-bend. That was a complication. Both for why it was there, and for the disgruntled man that just really, really wanted to go to the bathroom. Everything just had to be one big problem in his life.

Luckily, Lupin the Third was a problem solver.

Cold water drew nasal screams as Lupin dug his hand into the toilet. He yanked its obstruction free, twisting it around to inspect it like some fine jewel. A chrysanthemum. White. Whole. Troubling. No self-respecting man would have plugged a toilet with such a big and noble bloom. If it was there, it was because no one expected it to stay there.

"Crap," Lupin swore. "Not this again."

With a sigh and a splat, he threw it into the sink. He might be a fool, but he was not an idiot. There was no getting into a fight with his flatmates with a full bladder. His thoughts drained with his body. A wise man didn't make tactical decisions on the can. Foes were easier vanquished on the bathroom floor than a battleground.

Fear flushed down the drain. Anxiety bottled up, concentrated, squeezing into adrenaline. In the same twist, Lupin put his face on. Light glinted in fresh eyes, pliancy springing in rubbery cheeks, the tips of his hair sparking at the end of his comb. Alright. No sweat. He was just as good at bluffing as he was at planning. He'd just have to run this half-assed before he could go full mastermind.

Clean hands and bombastic shouting burst from the bathroom door. "Alright! Which one of you idiots is it this time?"

Three eyes stared at Lupin as he stomped into the living room. One closed as he approached. The other two stayed locked on, hard—focused. Lupin smirked. Of course, Jigen and Goemon were up. The former was drowning out early morning migraine goblins with coffee, and the latter probably never even properly went to bed. Caffeine and meditation weren't long-term substitutes for sleep, but Lupin couldn't throw any stones in that department. Sometimes, the only dreams he had were daydreams.

A growl from Jigen's teeth earned a grin from Lupin's. Oh, boy. Leave it to his right-hand man to flip him the finger! But, that gesture was no deterrent for Lupin. He had questions that needed answering. Flowers were the products of a language unspoken, and somebody needed to start talking.

Silence was just as glaring as dawn.

"Lupin!" came a whining yawn from behind him. "Keep it down! People are trying to sleep!"

Such a protest just made Lupin laugh. He looked over his shoulder, grinning as Fujiko came stumbling behind him, smearing fairy dust out of her eyes. It was breathtaking just how precious and innocent she could be. Perhaps she didn't look that way, sashaying in little more than an oversized shirt she used for pajamas, but nobody could make Lupin doubt his appraisals. Fluffy hair and doe eyes weren't hiding a fox's grin. At least, not this early in the morning.

"Sorry, Fujicakes." Even his teasing was truly earnest, for once. "But, I found this in the bathroom. And, I think you all know what that means."

Petals dangling between his fingers caught everyone's eyes.

Three sets of reactions were as telling as poker ticks. Fujiko was surprised, wide-eyed, blinking. Older eyes were narrowed, rolling. Ah, Jigen. Ever the romantic. Such contempt did not settle into the eyes that opened last. In fact, nothing was there at all. Black irises went void, smooth, as slick as ice. Well, that sure was Goemon. Reserved. Stoic. Seeking composure, no matter the gravity of their situation.

The culprit may as well have had a flashing neon sign over their head.

Lupin smirked. he didn't become a world-class thief by smashing his way through windows. He had finesse, dexterity, patience. Just the traits that this situation needed. "Well? Who wants to fess up?"

"Don't be a dramatic bitch about this, Lupin." Even without a cigarette, Jigen was as hot and bitter as smoke.

"I am not!" Lupin barked. "But, we all know how this works now, don't we?"

"Yeah," Jigen agreed. "You got us cursed with this stupid, girly, emotional flower bullcrap, and now we're paying the price because your head is too big to remove from your ass!"

Okay. Okay. Maybe Jigen had a point. Lupin was a teeny, tiny bit laissez-faire when it came to black magic. Maybe he shouldn't have damaged a three-hundred-year-old fresco of rainbow-colored irises trying to break into a coven's super-secret treasure vault. But, this situation aside, who got huffy over flowers? And it wasn't like those witches couldn't magic themselves up some better artwork! They were just lazy and cruel.

Although, maybe it wouldn't hurt if Lupin and his team wore a few blue irises of their own, from time to time. Something to dispel the wicked powers that they all had unfortunate habits of disturbing.

Lupin shrugged. "Well, me apologizing to those hags isn't going to get this fixed."

"It absolutely will!" Jigen snapped back.

"Okay. Well, it's not going to get this fixed right now." Geez! It was too early in the morning to be dodging Jigen's shots. "But, if _somebody_ comes clean, we can get this addressed before _somebody_ gets worse. And nobody wants any of us to suffer, do we?"

The tiniest "No" cracked out of Goemon.

Lupin held his stupid smile. "Well, then. Let's talk, shall we?"

"Well, it's obviously not you or me, Lupin." Fujiko curled into Lupin's shoulder, squeezing against his side. "That nasty old curse only hurts people when they hide their emotions. And you and I don't do that, do we? So, that kind of curse won't ever work on people like us."

"What a pile of trash," Jigen huffed.

Fire flared in Fujiko's eyes. "What about you, you troll? Did you cough up anything besides tar and tumors this morning?"

"Please." Jigen's gaze rose to the popcorn ceiling dripping above their heads. "Do I look like the kind of man that would be hacking up chrysanthemums?"

The sharpshooter was right on the money. Jigen was by no means immune to temperamental spells. His prickled, smoked, dropped out tobacco florets and coffee beans. If any feeling ate him from the inside out, it was his addictions. Maybe the occasional sore spot for a girl in need, but hey? Who wasn't guilty of that? As long as he had nicotine and caffeine, he was good to go. Perhaps more reliable than the sun rising in the east.

"Well, then," Lupin teased. "If it's not Fujiko, Jigen, or me, then who could it possibly be?"

The guilty party did not answer him.

A sigh rattled from clear lungs. Goemon really had to be like this, didn't he? As stubborn as a stone statue, frozen in place while picks hacked it limb from limb. Lupin leaned into his personal bubble, popping it with the tip of his toes. The monkey king broke free from a stone egg. So too would a monkey man crack a granite will.

"You know, you already had one family member die in a bathroom fixture," Lupin murmured. "Do you really want to make it two?"

Goemon clenched his teeth, then cracked his jaw.

Pale petals drowned out his rage.

Lupin yipped as he pulled himself clear of the floral explosion. Saliva and blooms stuck to his cheeks. He wiped the bulk of the mess away, balking as Goemon's cough sent another white wave into the air. It would have been quite whimsical, if the particles falling on his shoulders were snowflakes. There was no ignoring the sticky slime on the petals around them. It was hard to miss something so obvious as bodily fluids and suffering.

"Bingo." Getting confirmation was not as pleasing as Lupin thought it would be. He crouched before the samurai, his legs bending out in sharp bows. "Can you talk?"

With one embarrassed huff of fluff, Goemon nodded.

"Good." Lupin pushed his elbows onto his friend's knees. "We're going to get this taken care of. But, you know what you need to do to get better."

Proud shoulders tensed up. "Talk."

Lupin grinned. "About?"

"What is troubling me."

"What you want, Goemon."

"I—" A stubborn will fought to put the cap back on an erupting volcano. "One seeking enlightenment should not—"

"You have things you want, and that's okay, you idiot." Hairy hands seized smooth palms. "Just talk to us." 

Panic wound in what little stoicism stayed on Goemon's face. Lupin's muscles tightened, ready to flee at the slightest provocation. His energy went nowhere, grounding as Goemon relaxed. An easy smile pushed Lupin's face lopsided. Maybe picking Goemon's locks was hard to do, but Lupin was getting faster at it. Either that, or the samurai was finally figuring out how to pick his battles.

Now, Lupin wanted many things. Money. Precious stones and metals. Art. Girls. Good meals. Better beds. Best friends. Maybe Goemon wanted a few of these things, too. But, what he shared was not what Lupin expected to hear. "I want to visit my grandmother."

Wheels clicked. Lights flashed. Lupin jumped up, the slot machine in his head blaring its jackpot. "Oh! Oh, oh, oh! You're homesick!"

Fujiko cocked an eyebrow. "Seriously? Now? _Here?_ "

Behind her bitchy words was a solid truth. It was one thing for Goemon to be homesick in Brazil or Botswana or Belgium. Traveling the world had made him a teeny bit more amphibious, but Goemon was still a fish out of water any time they were not in Japan. However, here? In Kyoto? There shouldn't have been a place that Goemon fit in more. Okay, maybe Nagano or Totori or Shimane would have been a little less taxing, but Japan was the one place they were supposed to be in the clear for that condition.

That didn't matter. Goemon made his needs known. Lupin wasn't about to punish him for that. "Where's your grandma? Iga Village?" 

Goemon nodded.

"Okay. Easy, easy, easy," Lupin rattled. "We'll pack the car and hike right on up to see her. Shouldn't take more than a day trip, right?"

A slight tilt in Goemon's head sent black hair cascading over his eyes. "It's not that simple."

Nothing ever was. That was why Lupin was never bored. "What's the problem?"

Goemon's breath hitched. Lupin scrunched up, prepared for another bloom blast. It didn't come. He unwound, trying his best to hold his smile. Okay. Maybe Jigen had a point. Goemon's emotional constipation never helped these attacks, but neither did Lupin's antagonism. This curse really was on the both of them.

With a sharp swallow, Goemon found his voice once again. "I need to bring her gifts."

"Isn't that backwards?" Lupin laughed. "I thought grandmas were supposed to give gifts, not the other way around!"

Finally, that perennial stubbornness resurfaced in Goemon's will. "It is our custom. I must not break it."

"Fine, fine, fine." With that, Lupin snatched a writing pad off the coffee table. "So, what kind of gifts are we talking about, here?"

"Flowers."

"Well, you've already got that!" Fujiko teased.

If Goemon's glare could cut like his sword, there would be nothing left of Fujiko's pajamas. "I am not giving my grandmother flowers that I vomited up."

"Got it. Flowers." With a flourish, Lupin scribbled Goemon's request down. "Any kind in particular?"

"Something white. Perhaps lilies or roses or…" With an embarrassed flush, he gestured to his lips and throat.

"Or chrysanthemums. Okay." A sharp tear freed the request from the notepad's spiral binding. With two tucks, Lupin filed that request in Fujiko's cleavage. "All yours, Fujicakes!"

"What?" Fujiko pulled back, more offended by the orders than Lupin's perversion. "Why me?"

"Well, we can't have Goemon going out in public like this, can we? He's scary enough as he is!" Two pats on Fujiko's thigh were enough to have her beet-red. "This is the kind of request that requires someone with a true appreciation for beauty! A sensitive, gentle touch. And you have just that, Fujicakes!"

With a roll of her eyes, Fujiko pivoted back to their bedroom. "Buying flowers for another woman…I can't believe it!"

Lupin didn't let anyone steep in her tea for long. "Anything else?"

Goemon nodded. "Sake."

"Oh, sake!" With that, Lupin stuffed the second note into the band of his boxers. "I can take care of that!"

"Take the fun jobs, why don't you?" Jigen grumbled.

"A job of taste requires a man of taste, don't you think?" Lupin careened around, slithering onto the edges of Jigen's pantlegs. "And who has better taste than me?"

Jigen took that challenge head-on. "A truck stop cook. No, a truck stop toilet seat. No, a truck stop—"

"Stop. I get it." The thief recoiled, all too happy to take his space back in the comfort of Goemon's shattered shell. "Anything else? You've got one more man at your disposal here. I know he's cranky and stinks like a truck stop trash can, but—"

Jigen ended the rest of Lupin's description with a palm to his face.

Silence was the crest before another wave of coughs. Petals sprayed across twig-thin legs, sticking to skin and fabric alike. Jigen gave three solid whacks to the back of Goemon's chest, knocking the last of the latest mess free from clogged lungs. As disgusting as this was, it was still relatively clean. At least no blood was marring the petals around them. They were getting on top of this early—nipping it in the bud, with any luck.

Flushing blood subsided with the latest attack. "There is still miso in the fridge, correct?"

"Yeah," Jigen nodded.

"Dashi?"

"There's some left over from last night."

"Spring onions?"

"For God's sake," Jigen swore. "Yes, Goemon. We've got that and tofu and mushrooms and carrots and whatever the hell else you want to put in miso soup."

With a new determination, Goemon nodded. "Very well. Then, I will need your help making soup."

His rigidity just twisted Jigen's eyebrows. "You've made it a thousand times before."

"Yes. Well." With the tips of his fingers, Goemon fanned his face once more. "My sense of taste is compromised, at the moment."

Lupin twisted like a pretzel, his humming empathetic. Of course, Goemon's taste was off. Even normal illnesses screwed that up. But now, constantly gagging on flower petals? Everything had to taste like a side salad at best. Not even one with proper dressing. Maybe miso soup wasn't really all that removed from salads, considering its contents, but it was still not something to mess with. Especially not for someone special.

The hint of a smile broke in the corner of Jigen's face. "Alright. There's nothing I like more than an easy job."

Easy? Shoot. Lupin saw his mistake entirely too late. "Damn it. I could have been sitting on my ass all morning."

"That's right, jackass." With that, Jigen dismissed his boss. "Now, hop to it. Put on clothes and brush your teeth and go get presentable while I tend to the very hard task of lounging around in my jammies and eating soup."

Alright. Not that Lupin minded dressing up and looking good and going out. It was just having to deal with that at dawn. Plus, their day was officially shot now. It would be lucky if they got home by sundown, if at all tonight. But, the alternatives were not acceptable. He could not let Goemon get any worse than he already was, and he sure as hell wasn't about to go kowtowing to a bunch of old hags over a paint-by-numbers fresco. This was just the price he was going to have to pay.

Maybe for the sake, too. If he didn't use a five-finger discount, anyway.

Two claps around Goemon's shoulders had the samurai facing Lupin straight. "Hang in there, okay? We'll get you to your grandma. Everything'll be better after that."

Goemon managed to get halfway through his gratitude before blasting his boss across the nose with another burst of petals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr user ProfessorSparklePants has a popular post circulating about the the topic of hanahaki being reinterpreted as a chronic disease, rather than the emotional and grotesque fatality that it is usually portrayed as. And you know what? I'm down for that. It saves a lot of the awesome symbolic imagery from getting mired in emotional blackmail. I suppose there's still a bit of passiveness associated with such a disease, but I tried to cut through it for this work. Also, I'm not quite sure why some details from Dario Argento's "Suspiria" leaked in there. Sometimes, that's just how fanfiction goes.
> 
> Goemon's not the most emotionally repressed character I've written for, but he fits the bill pretty well for a disease like this, don't you think?
> 
> I've got this written out, so expect updates every couple of days or so until the whole story is up. In the meantime, please enjoy.


	2. Chapter 2

When Goemon didn't take a seat, Jigen took his.

A sharp glare cut over the tip of yellowed pages. Through supporting beams and his own legs, Jigen kept an eye on his partner in crime. He flipped a page, then the position of his ankles. If he didn't have to sit properly, he wouldn't. And since Goemon wasn't heeding their warnings, that gave Jigen all the leg room he needed to twist in any which way his spine would allow.

Vertebrae popped.

It was followed by a splatter in the sink.

Jigen lowered his book a centimeter, watching Goemon wash his face and hands before returning to work. The attacks were coming faster, but in smaller bursts. Maybe it was easier for Goemon to clear himself out, now that everyone knew what was up with him. Maybe just having fewer people around did the trick. It didn't give Jigen much peace. Certainly, not if a sick man was cooking for others.

"Hey." Jigen's support scraped on the floor as he sat up. "Take a break."

A single shake of black hair was all he got in response.

Spidering limbs folded up. Jigen clenched his molars. That damned Goemon. Even now, with aching innards and fatigue, he kept himself as stiff as a scarecrow with a broom up its ass. The only thing holding him together were the ties around his waist and sleeves. Of course, he was ready to work. Ready to fight, even. He could rest when he was dead.

That reliable stubbornness was a real pain in the ass, some days.

Jigen's elbows clunked on the table. "You know, maybe I don't want to sample something that could potentially have your spit in it."

That got a crescent of Goemon's attention. "I am almost done. I only have the soft ingredients left to add."

"Good," Jigen chuckled. "Less work for me."

Approaching an armed samurai was never a wise idea. Jigen was not in the wisest of moods. Sharp knees nudged the pleats of hakama pants aside, shoving a spot square before the cutting board. In the same way, Goemon's fingers parted before Jigen's, his palm steaming against the wood and metal of his knife. Jigen clicked his teeth together, then shook his head. With a temperature like that, Goemon was going to end up cutting off his fingers before finishing his vegetables.

"Grab a chair," Jigen ordered. "You can yell at me from there."

Thin lips pressed tight. Jigen ignored the silent threat. He didn't dare crack a smile until Goemon gave up. Maybe a stranger would have found his actions cruel. Few people got Goemon like Jigen did. Beneath that sweet face and soft hair was a terrifying will. It fought, struggled, screamed in a silent throat. Such a soul took everything like a challenge, shredding comfort with the claws of a tiger. Coddling Goemon was insulting, dangerous. The best Jigen could do was provoke him, then drag him down like a matador. After that, just maybe, he could cloak his friend with the same fabric he used to piss him off.

Wooden scraping across tile joined rhythmic tapping. Jigen could feel Goemon's frustration boil like a campfire from behind. Not that he was one that believed in auras or chakras or any of that crap, but he sure cooked in its heat. It was too bad the dashi on the stove couldn't use such power. That would have reduced their electrical consumption by half.

Not that Jigen knew anything about the myriad of properties Lupin owned, nor their various bills.

Hell, he probably just stole what he needed off the grid.

Mushrooms. Green onions. Tofu. Spinach. Kelp. All the greenery that Jigen could gag on. He buzzed along, chopping fungi and veggies alike, dumping them unceremoniously into the bubbling pot of soup at his left. There were slightly more palatable things that Goemon had been cooking longer. Potatoes, carrots, a radish or two. It was still a carnivore's nightmare.

Boy. The things he did for comradery.

"Turn the burner off in a minute." For once, it was comforting to hear Goemon's bossy, uptight tone. "We will need to add miso once it stops boiling."

A peeking flash revealed a smirk over a curled beard. "You know, steaks take less effort to make. They taste better, too."

"My grandmother would not want steak."

Jigen sighed. Of course not. If Goemon was impractically old fashioned, his grandmother had to be centuries worse. Maybe even straight up from the Edo period. Well, maybe there was some sort of foolish nobility to people like them. They knew their history, tried their best to keep from repeating their mistakes. Not that it helped Goemon when it came to the treachery of women, but hell. His sense of chivalry made more sense than Lupin's.

The same man was on Goemon's mind. "When do you suppose Lupin will be back?"

"Shouldn't be too much longer." Jigen shrugged. "Assuming he doesn't do anything stupid, anyway."

"Ah." A little squeak gave Goemon's repositioning away. "I wonder if we have time to make botamochi."

We. Well, now. There was a word Jigen didn't mind hearing, for once. "You're lucky we had enough to make soup."

A halting tick preceded another gag. Jigen locked his head forward as Goemon situated himself over the sink once more. Idiot. There was no reason to make more work. He was barely functional as he was. What good was it to work himself to death? Did he want to boil like his namesake? That was neither helpful nor creative.

How long did it take to make botamochi, anyway? An hour? Did they even have ingredients for that? Rice was a given, considering Goemon's stubborn diet. But, didn't they need anko for something like that? Such an ingredient wasn't exactly a staple. Not when chocolate was cheaper and tasted better.

Jigen's hands turned with the time, clicking the burner off. "How long has this attack been going?"

"Just this morning," Goemon huffed.

"This morning?" A growl grated through strained vocal cords. "You're coughing up flowers the size of baseballs! How'd you grow something like that so fast?"

"I do not know what to say." There was a soft shift as Goemon approached him. "I assume this illness is like heat stroke."

Ah, heat stroke. An old enemy of Jigen's. Half a dozen deserts had fried him from the inside out. Even now, on days that were just a touch too hot, old memories would cook his intestines like hot dogs. Maybe Goemon was right. He'd been the first to show signs of their curse. He'd had the most relapses by far, too.

Jigen winced. Having flowers coming up one end and fire out the other was a potential situation for him. A future he hoped he wouldn't have to face.

Empathy itched in Jigen's throat. "We ought to kick Lupin's ass for this."

"Our track record for getting revenge on Lupin is not favorable."

"I know. Doesn't mean I don't want to give it a shot."

"That is understandable." Goemon pressed himself next to the oven, taking his post once more. "But, for now, this is just an inconvenience."

Jigen rolled his eyes. "You think getting shot is just an inconvenience."

"No. That is an embarrassment." Steady fingers reached for a jar of miso, cracking it open with one precise twist. "The strainer, please."

Jigen didn't bother fighting Goemon this time. Nothing good would come of it. Either the samurai would beat him while sick—a complete disgrace, even for a disgrace—or he would end up debilitating the last sane man he knew. He passed the utensil in question, then backed off, letting Goemon scrape up the last of his dignity. Whatever anxiety he had left dissolved with miso paste into the soup.

A spoon came back to Jigen. "If you would."

Oh, goodie. Well, if he had to choke on flowers or vegetables, this was the preferable option. Jigen swallowed his gall, then the broth. He could have done without 99% of the vegetables he was currently gnashing down, but it was alright. Fine. Perfectly acceptable, if one had to settle for soup.

Jigen shrugged. "Tastes like miso soup."

"Not your favorite, I take it."

"No," he admitted, "But if it's what your grandmother wants, then it's what your grandmother should get, right?"

That was enough to gag Goemon again.

This was getting stupid. If Goemon wasn't going to take care of himself, he was going to ruin their work. Jigen shoved Goemon back, forcing him into his seat once more. For someone accustomed for sitting hours at a time in meditation, he could at the very least stay down for once in his life. With a grunt, a grab, and a flash of light across metal, Jigen pitched the last of the utensils in Goemon's hands into the side of the sink dirtied only by dishes. He made his will known with a single thwack of a plastic container to the top of the samurai's head.

"Stay down," Jigen growled. "I've got work to do."

Curiosity cleared the clouds in Goemon's eyes. "But, my request for you is completed."

"Yeah." Steam seared Jigen's face as he slopped the miso into his Tupperware. "But, you know what grandmas really like?"

"Hmm?"

"Cookies."

Goemon's face pinched. "I do not think my grandmother ever had cookies."

"Well, then," Jigen laughed, "She's about to."

Curious eyes watched as Jigen replaced one mess with another. Away went stock and veggies. In their place came eggs, butter, sugar. A proper baker would probably mix the wet ingredients separately, then dump in the dry stuff. Jigen didn't have the patience for that. He wasn't making anything fancy like a meringue or a roux or whatever the hell French stuff Lupin babbled on about. He was just making cookies.

A disappointed sigh dusted Jigen's back. "You're not making my grandmother the mistake cookies, are you?"

" _Chocolate chip_ , Goemon." Jigen clanged the next set of ingredients a little too loudly together just to annoy his critic. "And they're an accident, not a mistake."

"I struggle to see the difference."

Jigen grinned. For one who spent so much time deep in thought, Goemon could be so dense. "Sometimes, you can fall ass-first into a good thing without even meaning to do so."

"Like Lupin does."

"Right." At least Goemon was fast on his feet, even when Jigen forced him off them. "Chocolate chip cookies are just like that."

Goemon's hum was soft, reassuring.

"Plus, we're out of ingredients to make anything else."

"Ah." Goemon nodded. "That would put some limitations on what you can make."

"Like you and your damn soup." With that, Jigen tore open one more package with his teeth. "Now, you just behave yourself, got me? If you're really good, I'll even give you a couple of cookies."

That offer was rejected with another floral flood hitting the kitchen sink.

Jigen just sighed. "Well, you don't have to be a dick about my baking, Goemon."

The samurai shrunk into his robes. "T-That was an accident."

He fully believed Goemon. He just wished that those accidents weren't happening so, so much.


	3. Chapter 3

White.

White!

Who ever wanted something as boring as white flowers?

Fujiko groaned as she stuck her face into waves of greenery. There were all sorts of lovely flowers around her. Carnations, irises, daffodils. Daisies dyed audacious hues with food coloring. Asters and peonies, tulips and dahlias, roses and roses and roses and roses. She was floating in a rainbow, as bright as stained glass on a sunny morning. Here, she was a beauty of every color.

Every color but white.

How could it be? How could every last white flower be gone? She pouted, glaring at each bloom with the same suspicion cops and robbers alike regarded her. Well, there had to be some white flowers somewhere, right? That was what the rainbow-dyed daisies actually were, sans chemicals. Thin heels tapped on thick, humid wood as Fujiko made her way to the sales counter. If anyone knew the contents of this store, it had to be a clerk.

"Excuse me." Fujiko batted her eyes, leaning down ever-so-slightly. "I'm wondering if you have anything white left. Perhaps some roses?"

The clerk did his best to maintain eye-contact with her. It was a battle he lost all too soon. "N-No, miss."

"Chrysanthemums? Carnations?" She pushed in with her spine and pout. "I'll even take a little daisy."

"I—I suppose I can check in the back," he squeaked.

With two bats of her eyelashes, Fujiko sent him scurrying. "Thank you, sweetheart."

The salesclerk was all shoelaces as he stumbled his way into the stockroom. Fujiko drew herself around, happy to let the counter hold her up while she waited. Her sweet façade held with her smile. It was nice to be reassured of her powers. Princes and plutocrats were a piece of cake to seduce. Lupin was all too willing to jump into her sack, no matter what was actually in it. Jigen fought like a dog, Goemon rolling over with the slightest push on his back. But, strangers? That was where the true tests could be found. Their seduction was her improvisation, as free as jazz.

One minute passed. Two. Five. With the slap of a wooden frame fell Fujiko's hopes. Heavy feet drudged back to her, the clerk's head lowered in shame. "I'm sorry, miss. There's just nothing white left back there."

Fujiko flipped back to his face, giving it two sad pats. "It's alright. You did your best."

"P-Please, let me know if I can help you with anything else," the clerk stammered.

"I will, cutie." With a boop on the clerk's nose, Fujiko sent him free.

Frustration fell on a fair face as she pulled away from the counter. Weird. Weird, weird, weird. This was the third shop she had stopped at. The largest, too. What was going on with the world? Why would there be no white flowers anywhere, save for whatever Goemon was coughing up?

Fujiko pushed herself off the counter, wading through floral perfume and spraying mist once more. Maybe it was time to give up. There was no point in continuing a meaningless fight, was there? Surely, any decent grandmother would be glad to get any flowers at all. The entire Ishikawa lineage couldn't be as fickle as their latest descendent, could they?

And what if they were? Fujiko locked her arms over her chest. Then they were all babies! Flowers were flowers! Furthermore, flowers were expensive! Anyone should be grateful to get any flowers at all! As long as they were healthy, bug free, and blooming, that should be enough!

Shouldn't it?

Longing eyes wavered beside red roses. Soft fingers stroked the edge of one bloom, wondering what to do. She didn't want to have a fight over something so ridiculous with Lupin and the rest of his crew. Neither did she want to be the one responsible for Goemon getting worse. Her face flushed, eyelashes flattening to thick black lines. No. They all had their own curses to manage. Goemon was doing the worst at it, but he was still responsible for his own wellbeing. He was as much of an adult as the rest of them. He should start acting like it.

But then, what was she?

"I do not know what you are," Goemon had once told her, "but I know you are my girlfriend."

Fujiko flushed red. Stupid idiot didn't even know the meaning of the words coming out of his goddamn mouth. No, he didn't mean it like Lupin meant it—like a rabbit overdosed on aphrodisiacs celebrating Valentine's Day. He didn't mean it like Jigen, who would less go down with their ship and more throw her overboard first. He meant it literally. A girl who was his friend. A girl who could betray him a million times and still be called a friend.

If his lungs didn't get him killed, his heart would.

"Excuse me, miss? May I have those?"

Fujiko looked to her left. There was an older woman reaching for the bouquet just beneath the one she was touching. She grinned, then pulled back, presenting the desired flowers to her guest. That got her a smile back. Crow's feet and wrinkles fell into old, solemn routes as the shopper turned away. They were strong enough to tug at a few strings Fujiko left unchecked.

Why was another woman out here, buying flowers all on her own? That seemed like something a man should be doing. Pearly teeth locked tight. Someone was neglecting that poor lady. Well, good for her, buying herself a bouquet! And phooey to all of the useless men that didn't get them for her!

Fujiko grumbled. Whether she liked it or not, she was in the same boat with that crone.

Lupin was so going to owe her for this.

"Pardon me." Manicured nails rested on pink tweed. "Could I get your opinion on something?"

"Oh?" Light glimmered over tired eyes as the shopper turned back to Fujiko. "How can I help you?"

"I'm looking for some flowers for my grandmother." Well, it was easier to lie than to tell the truth, anyway. "I was looking for something white, but it looks like the shop doesn't have anything white left."

The older woman nodded, her forlorn face set stiff once again. "I suppose that's the most popular color for flowers, right now."

Oh, sure. Goemon just had to hit on a trend, for once in his life. Fujiko tried not to let her frustration mar her face. "What else do you think I should get?"

A soft sigh rose from her fellow shopper. "Oh, that's difficult to say. It helps to know what kind of flowers they like the best." She lifted the motley set of flowers within her grasp. "My daughter always favored roses. So, I try to get them for her."

That seemed fair enough. But, Fujiko was missing one teeny, tiny piece of data. " I don't know what her favorite flowers are."

Excitement bloomed in the shopper's face. Her wrinkles lifted as she looked all around, searching for any decent answer. For a moment, Fujiko could see into her past—could see when she was a woman people bought roses for. Something painful darted across her heart. Was she looking into this woman's past or into her own future?

No. There would always be flowers. For Fujiko, and for her fellow shopper.

"You know," the older lady laughed, "I rather like stargazer lilies."

"You do?" Fujiko's eyes sparkled. "So do I! They're so dramatic! All huge and pink!"

"Irises, too!" Her guest paused, the joy in her voice fading. "Ah, but they would be the opposite of what you'd want, wouldn't they?"

Maybe, in a sense. It was a fresco of irises that had gotten them all cursed, anyway. But, there was no way Fujiko's shopping companion could have known about that. "How so?"

"Irises are meant to be colorful. Happy." There was a bittersweet lull in the shopper's voice. "They're named after a goddess. The Greek goddess of rainbows."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. A very happy name for very happy flowers." Weathered fingers stroked one bloom, her smile just as worn as her skin. "They're needed on the toughest days of all."

Fujiko could agree to that.

With a gentle tug, Fujiko took a bright bouquet from the display. Pink and blue blooms sparkled like gemstones in her own irises. Even in a rainbow of colors, Fujiko found the one she sought most of all. There was white binding around the stargazers, pale veining through the petals of the irises. Even a speckle of baby's breath glowed like starlight within the blast of colors. This motley mix may be as close as she was going to get to a snow-white set on a cursed day like today. Still, it brought her joy.

If those stupid men of hers knew what was good for them, they'd like these flowers, too.

"Thank you." For once, Fujiko genuinely meant that. "I really needed that."

"You're welcome." With two pats, the shopper let her guest go. "Just try to have a good day today, dear."

Oh, sure. Maybe it was going to be a little rough, hiking all the way into the mountains of rural Japan just to set one man straight. It would be easier to face this than some grotesque funeral and whatever mourning hell Lupin would put her through. Fujiko's face froze at the thought. Oh, it was very easy for Lupin to drown his cares beneath a tide of alcohol. If he couldn't solve a problem, his friends would.

And if they couldn't?

It took Fujiko a little too long to realize she was squeezing her bouquet, soaking her blouse with its dew.


	4. Chapter 4

Two thousand bottles. Two thousand little green and brown containers, from wall to wall, floor to ceiling. Well, one thousand, nine-hundred, and eighty-seven bottles of various kinds of alcohol, if one really, really needed to get clear. Lupin did. He'd counted. And in all of those bottles, all of those pretty little labels and shapes, he couldn't find a single drop of sake.

He plopped his butt down, baffled.

Finding the Holy Grail was less complicated than this!

Antsy fingers grabbed his chin. Lupin scratched at its edge, gnawing his cheek. How could this be? He'd understand if he was in France or the United States, but here? In Japan? How could there not be any sake here?

He moved his wrist, dragging metal with him.

"Uh, Lupin?" A gruff voice rumbled behind him, shaking his arm. "You're under arrest."

Lupin nodded. "I heard you the first time, Pops."

Inspector Zenigata was a shark, for sure. Nobody caught his blood in the water as fast as that hunter did. But, Lupin was not some mackerel to be chased away by gnashing teeth. No. Complications anchored him to the ground. So, with no other direction to go, Zenigata had no choice but to sink with him.

The detective leaned into his shoulder, whispering into his right ear. "This is the part where you start running."

"I know! I know!" Lupin agreed. "I just have something important to do first."

Confusion scrunched Zenigata's face from a rectangle to a square. "Getting booze this early in the morning?" He sighed, then shook himself loose. "You need more help than I thought, Lupin."

Bright teeth glimmered like diamonds in Lupin's grin. Wasn't old Pops just a sweetheart? Although, there wasn't much he could do at the moment. Not unless he had a distillery or could time travel, at any rate. Lupin leaned forward, re-reading the labels around him once more, his scratching digging stubble free. How could this be? How could freaking Japan not have sake?

"There's got to be something I'm missing," Lupin moped.

Zenigata scooted forward, crouching beside him. "You? Please."

"I know, right? I'm a genius!" It was amazing how two words from his most persistent foe could clear up his face. "But I just don't get it. How is there no sake in this town?"

"Sake?" Zenigata echoed.

"That's right." Lupin leaned back, ticking against his fingers. "I've been to seven gas stations, five grocery stores, and three liquor stores. Nothing!" He folded his arms, twisting Zenigata's restraints under his elbows. "What happened? Did someone burn all of Hokkaido down or something?"

Pops shook his head. "It's probably just the equinox."

"Equinox?"

"Yeah. The autumn one," Zenigata rattled. "You know? Where you go to visit shrines and graves?"

The slot machine in Lupin's head spun again. This time, it dropped three black bars.

Lupin's brain split. What was human kept reeling, trying again and again to pull another conclusion. Base instincts got his legs under his butt, his body in the air. Zenigata balked as Lupin dragged him up. It wasn't long before the thief had him spinning in circles, weaving back and forth like the tail of a dragon crammed between antique shop shelves.

"She's dead," Lupin gasped. "Crap! She's dead, dead, dead, dead!"

Zenigata was ever the detective, even while being whipped around. "Who is dead?"

"Goemon's grandma."

"Oh." Thick eyebrows pinched together. "My condolences?"

"I didn't even know that she was—" Well, how would Lupin know? It wasn't like it was completely infeasible for Goemon to still have a living grandmother. That teeny little detail would have been important to know, though! "Crap! How's any of this going to work?"

"Any of what?"

Lupin twisted around. He forced Zenigata in front of him, adjusting him still and straight. His fingers laced into the detective's overcoat, digging crescent moons with his nails into the folds of its lapels. "You get around, right, Pops?"

"Err…" The detective scratched beneath the brim of his hat. "I don't like the way you worded that."

"Ever hear about hanahaki?"

"Yeah." Nothing was encouraging about the blue tint freezing the corners of Zenigata's mouth. "Terrible disease. Not the kind of scene you want to be on the clean-up crew for."

A petrifying pulse hit Lupin's heart. Reality crept colorless across his eyes. Pops was almost his friend, as willing to arrest him as he was to help him. Inspector Zenigata was also a cop that fought people. Hurt people. Saw life and death and the messes they left behind. Acid curled like vines in Lupin's esophagus. It was through elasticity alone that he kept his bile down.

"I'll take your word on that, Pops." Lupin rocked back, directing adrenaline from his heels to his head. "So, here's the deal. I kind of, sort of, might have gotten me and my buddies cursed with reoccurring hanahaki."

"What?!"

"It's good! We know how to treat it, and we've been taking care of it." It was completely unfair that Lupin had to settle the detective, especially considering the hummingbird hammering going on with his heart. "Well, you know how it works, right?"

"Yeah," Zenigata nodded. "You talk things out and get your emotions in check with others before it eats you from the inside out."

"And that's kind of a big problem this time."

Zenigata's eyes flared. It wasn't just the badge and the trench coat that made him a detective. "And Goemon wants to talk with his grandmother—"

"But he can't," Lupin finished. "Since, you know. She's…dead."

Life beat pallor from blue lips. Blood rushed from the bottom of Zenigata's chin to the top of his brow. Lupin gawked as the detective flushed red. He then flinched as laughter tore through a hoarse throat like lava through an ice-capped mountain. Angry heat flashed for one second through Lupin's skin. How could Zenigata think any of this was funny?

Sense came back to his brain with a single tap on his shoulder. "And here I was, thinking you were a genius."

Lupin pouted. "I am a genius, thank you very much!"

"Then rub the two neurons that the gods gave you together and pay attention to me," Zenigata ordered. "Just how many impossible things have you seen in your life?"

Oh, what? Like, monsters? Well, there were zombies, vampires, mermaids, dragons, robots, aliens, and half a dozen other creatures in the back of Lupin's brain. There was going to places that didn't exist, defying the laws of physics on a routine basis, living through feast and famine and hearing the same dull speeches from the same boring villains over and over again. To write every last detail of his life down would take decades. Centuries, even.

It was hard for Lupin not to brag. "I may have been around the block a time or two."

"Then, don't you think you can talk with the dead?" Zenigata asked.

Maybe. Lupin still hadn't gotten his communicator with the underworld to work quite right. Ouija boards were flat out. Entirely too unreliable. Reanimation of the dead was possible, but never fun. He couldn't see where zombifying Goemon's grandmother would do anything but make the samurai sicker. But, if Pops was talking about something less drastic—something like praying…

Well, Zenigata was an international cop. He was also as Japanese as a man could get. All Shinto and Buddhist and Yamato and Bushido beneath his trench coat. If anyone had a chance of understanding Goemon's mind, it was him. And if even a rational man like Zenigata was willing to entertain the company of the dead, who was an irrational man like Lupin to question that?

"You know, Pops, that's not entirely a comforting thought." Lupin's laugh was light, checked. "I mean, all the times I've been messing around with Fujiko…I'd hate to think my grandpa was listening in on that."

"Don't be a pervert," Zenigata grumbled. "Just get your act together."

Right. Right, right, right. This was one of the few times Goemon ever admitted to needing help. Lupin couldn't shrug off what seemed impossible now. Even a man as lucky as he was might not be able to get a second chance on this. He spun around, glaring once more at the rows of alcohol pressing him in. There had to be a solution here. Some way to make the impossible possible.

"Say, Pops?" Lupin asked.

"Yeah?"

"What kind of booze did your grandma like?"

Zenigata pointed to a pink label at Lupin's ankle. "Peach schnapps!" He crossed his arms, tugging on Lupin's restraint as he laughed. "She always said that peaches made you smarter!"

"Probably should have drank more of that then, huh?" Lupin snaked his right wrist free of its cuff, snatching the bottle from the bottom shelf. "Well, thanks again, Pops! I can always count on you to set me straight!"

All systems were hot and ready to roll when strong fingers clamped into Lupin's collarbone. The thief yipped as the detective hauled him off the ground with a single tug. Like an annoyed cat, Zenigata dropped his catch in front of the store's check-out counter. One broad hand smashed Lupin's chest into the countertop, the other shoving the bottle of schnapps into the clerk's grip.

There weren't many cops that would smile at a rogue like Lupin. "If you pay for this, then I don't have to arrest you, do I?"

"Pops," Lupin wheezed, "You're just no fun."


	5. Chapter 5

The sky was on fire.

Red leaves ruffled over the Fiat, their edges burning yellow as sunlight pierced through layers of overgrowth. The only force cooling their fever was the gentle breeze fanning them in rolling waves. A crack in the vehicle's windows pushed the same winds over a downed brow. More stuck to glass than fallen leaves and the dirt of the road. Inside, sweat greased the window's surface, a second fever drawing dew from skin.

It was alright. These symptoms were expected, impermanent. Fighting the anger and fear they brought was as hard as swimming upstream. That was not the way Goemon trained. He did not rise up. Water came down, and he met it at its base. In the same way, he let his worry flow, flushing every last thought down the back of his spine.

Anger snapped a twig in his stream of thoughts.

He really, really hated Dramamine.

What could be done? Finding Iga Village meant chugging for hours through lumpy roads and forests. That was aggravating enough without chrysanthemum blooms joining bile. Goemon kept his eyes closed, trying not to stare at what he left in the bin clenched to his chest. Something rotten was clinging to the latest set of flowers. Something black.

His grandmother would have—

Drowsiness kept him from spewing another bush's worth of blooms. Well, good. Those little pills were still working. They couldn't last for much longer. Neither could Goemon. Even drugged, it was hard to keep an emptied mind. Illnesses demanded solutions. Memory brought suggestions. He remembered being small, aching, hiding in the shadow of his grandmother's lap. She had medicines—all bitter, but effective. More than that, she had soft hands. A peaceful home. A song muted, its comfort lost in time.

The sun was too bright for dark eyes. He could shut them, but not his ears.

It was not his grandmother's sweet voice that summoned him. "Goemon?"

The samurai kept his head in the bin, just in case anything other than words fell out of his mouth. "Yes?"

"There's a woman in the road," Lupin hummed.

Goemon glanced up. Sure enough, there was. She kept her post between arches of maple leaves, a greater post between her fingers. A naginata. That said more of their location than any words coming from the road guardian's mouth. With a straightened spine, Goemon prepared himself for her company. This was certainly not the time to see if any other Iga villager could cleave a car like he could.

Plastic clicked as Goemon unlocked the back door. He did not so much exit the vehicle as tumble out. Quick hands caught him by himo strips. It wasn't until Goemon had both feet square beneath him that Jigen let him go. The samurai turned back to the car's passengers, trying his best to reassure them with a single smile. All he received were imitations as poor as his own.

Goemon pushed forward, Zantetsuken dragging like a dog's tail behind him. "Yaegaki. It is good to see you again."

"Goemon." The guardian's spear dipped. "What brings you here?"

"I wish to visit my grandmother."

Sharp eyes raised sharper eyebrows. "With strangers?"

Such a tone was to be expected. Iga Village didn't survive by welcoming everyone into their fold. "They are not strangers to—"

The rest of his sentence went up like snow.

Yaegaki jolted back, her eyes wide as chrysanthemum petals fell at her feet. Two more claps rattled her. She drew her naginata, aiming it towards an oncoming valley. Goemon seized it at its shaft. With the same steady sureness, both Fujiko and Jigen drew him up, pushing him against the hot hood of Lupin's Fiat. It was only when Yaegaki relaxed that Goemon let her weapon go.

"Hanahaki." The word was bitter on the guard's tongue. "How terrible."

"It will be fine," Goemon explained. "But, I need their help."

Long hair bowed in agreement. "I can see that."

Yaegaki's naginata came up once more. It fell to the brush at her left. The forest split at the edge of its blade. From rows of trees rolled a small, downtrodden path. Silver flecking spun along the hidden road, pinwheels heavy and slow in the hot, humid breeze.

Two taps against metal got Lupin's attention. "You, there. Pull your car to the side of the road."

Lupin gave the trio outside of the Fiat just enough time to get their butts off its frame before rolling it back. Brush fell around the vehicle, taking it in like it was a century's old companion. Red leaves flushed from the camouflage as Lupin kicked himself free, now hacking up a very different plant from Goemon's own illness. It was all the samurai could do to hold back a grin. With a gentle tug, he drew out his friend, silencing his squawking with a single pat on the shoulder.

"All good, all good." With one more yank, Lupin broke himself free of the forest's eerie illusions. "Didn't want to forget this, did you?"

Green cloth bulged under fiery leaves. Wrapped within it were the collection of gifts his friends had drawn together. Goemon knelt before Lupin, taking their collected burden against his back. It was not the first time that he had carried such a haul. With any luck, it would not be his last.

The group converged, not stepping a foot past Yaegaki before Goemon could. All three flanked him as he bowed his head towards the guard. "Thank you."

"You are welcome." With that, she guided them to their path. "Please leave before sunset. We do not like finding strangers or neighbors in our woods after dark."

Goemon nodded. "I understand."

A single push straightened him. "Get well soon."

He made an honest effort to reply. Petals garbled his speech. He turned away from the guard, flushed and ashamed. It was bad enough that he lived in lands outside his own, indulging in modern facilities and delights. The last thing he needed was for those in his clan with blood on their lips to smell his own.

Heat. Humidity. The residual fog of drugs. They were all unpleasant. Goemon could not cast them out, but he could put them aside, for a little while. The crunch of shoes against pebbles and dirt gave him something to focus on. So did shadows, the pull of wind through grass and hair, the loud and obvious babbling of his metropolitan friends echoing throughout the forest's breadth.

"Ugh! Freaking rocks!" Fujiko stopped for a moment, shaking a pebble out of her boot. "Every time I think I get them out, I find one more!"

Jigen's laugh hissed through his teeth. "At least you're not wearing heels out here. Think of what a mess that would make."

"You're telling me," Lupin whined. "The mountains are no place for a decent pair of shoes! I'm going to have to shine these again when we get out of here."

Despite their groaning, Goemon smiled. "We do not have far to go."

Lupin was less than reassured. "That could mean anywhere from fifteen minutes to hours of walking, with you."

"I promise," Goemon murmured. "If I can make this walk, you can."

Such words were less than inspiring. Fujiko chewed on her lip, her pout cherry-red. Jigen ground his teeth. Even Lupin let a nervous little laugh loose. Alright. Perhaps Goemon had given them fields of reasons to worry today. That part of their labor was over. The rest was on his shoulders.

"So…ah…" Lupin slowed down his trot, easing into Goemon's ambling pace. "They get hanahaki out here too, huh?"

"Such illnesses happen among those who keep secrets." Goemon straightened his back, shifting the pack between his shoulders. "Depression, anxiety, paranoia. These aren't the words we use to describe these conditions. But, they are here."

"Heh." Jigen reached into his shirt pocket, fishing out a red box. "I suppose everyone's job will kill them, eventually."

"Not me!" Lupin shouted. "Mine keeps me alive!"

Jigen rolled his eyes, then lit his cigarette. "Right up to the point where you get shot, anyway."

"Does this sort of thing happen often up here?" Fujiko asked.

Goemon shook his head. "What many see as an illness, they call a curse. Which, I suppose in our case, is true." He let his gait drift, leaning slightly into the rising curve of their path. "It is said that long ago, a sorcerer found his lover cheating on him. He cursed her with this disease, telling her that the only way her life would be spared was if she confessed the name of her new companion."

Lupin sighed. "And she didn't, right?"

That drew a nod from Goemon. "Such a curse not only consumed her, but her entire village."

"Hmph." Jigen twisted his cigarette in his mouth, letting its smoke drift away from the group. "Your people just have the happiest little fairy tales, Goemon."

"I'll say!" Fujiko crossed her arms. "Always having to punish women, aren't they? Maybe that sorcerer was too stupid to take a hint!"

A slight smirk rose in the corners of Goemon's lips. It fell sour, bitter. Layers of vegetation slathered his tongue. He grimaced, then swallowed it back. His friends had a point. Life beyond cushy couches, bedframes, and vehicles was rarely kind and comfortable. Jigen knew of that pain through war, Fujiko and Lupin through collapsing schemes and iron bars. Even as this place and its people were, Goemon wanted to be here—enough to make him sick.

Where he could not articulate his thoughts, his ancestors did.

Fire parted for black and orange gates. Stone leveled the rise of the mountains. The living counted no more than a handful. Those deceased, an army. Moss fell like a cape over the city of the dead, trailing sparse at the freshest graves towards its end. Here was not the Japan they knew. It was one left far, far behind, as separated from their reality as the fairy tales they told.

Fujiko's knees buckled. The grin on Lupin's face fell. Jigen frowned, then pinched off the end of his cigarette. There was no place to cast its remains. Not without littering, at any rate. The last thing this place needed was for anyone to burn it to the ground. There was no rebuilding something so old, so grown into the forest itself.

"Okay, Goemon." Lupin kept his voice low. "Show us where to go."

Where he did not speak, his blade did. Zantetsuken shook against its sheath, metal wringing like a lonesome bell. Goemon's gaze fell to the path before his feet, the stone that was worn smooth from thousands of steps before his own. He did not need to look up to know where to go. He had taken this path many times before.

The voices at his back were new, though. Frantic. "Lupin—"

"It's okay, Fujiko."

"Lupin, I didn't know." Fujiko gasped, her breath as sharp as arrowheads. "How is this going to—"

"Well, we're going to find out, aren't we?"

Goemon lifted his head. He had to say something. Put up a defense. Share comfort. Anything. There was nothing but petals stacked between the roof of his mouth and his tongue. Damn it. The drugs were all but out of his system. He coughed into his right hand, struggling to catch what ran slick. It would be one thing if the blooms within him would just float away. Now, they were heavy, wet, sticking in a lump like mochi.

Something else cut his tongue.

Jigen trailed him like Death's shadow. "Need more pills?"

"No." Goemon wiped saliva and blood from his chin. "We're almost there."

That was not an answer that set well with Jigen. His smirk was guarded, laced with ash. It wasn't the same smile he had when Goemon turned down alcohol or cigarettes. It was holding back. Disturbed. Stinking not of tobacco, but of rising bile.

He could not let any of them get sick worrying over him. Certainly, not at his grandmother's grave.

Goemon's abrupt stop pulled the group a step off kilter. Had the samurai not drawn attention to the stone, none of them would have noticed it at all. It was of the same gray color as the memorials jutting around them, moss erasing kanji from its face. Goemon picked at it, freeing his grandmother's name. With that handled, he settled onto his knees, finally bringing himself to rest.

" _Sobo_ , my apologies." Goemon lifted the load from his back, laying it across his lap. "I should have been here a long time ago."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should mention that my Japanese is novice at best. I think the term 'Sobo' is what I heard from that Pink Jacket parody episode of "Part V", but I had to run it past Jisho.org to double-check. (It's probably not a good thing to get a majority of my Japanese vocabulary from crime dramas. Also, it seems like Lupin and his crew have some kinda funky accent going on.)
> 
> I'll post the final chapter tomorrow (June 27th, 2020).


	6. Chapter 6

With someone so mired in tradition, there was always a ritual with Goemon. His companions dropped beside him, legs folded and lips locked. On most days, Fujiko and Lupin would not have had the patience for his methodology. Even Jigen lost his patience in a dire strait. They could let their objections and complaints be known later. Impatience would cost too much. Days. Weeks. What Goemon kept checked in his chest.

Emerald fabric fell. From its guts sprang plastic packages, glass, flowers fresher than the ones in his ribs. Goemon started with the smallest box first. Its contents rolled beneath his thumb, abrasion sending spice through the air. Incense. No visit to a grave was complete without it. He drew a single stick, placing it in the holder hovering at the height of his head.

Not one lighter went up, but three.

"Thank you." Gratitude shocked Goemon into stammering. "S-Sobo, pardon me. This is Lupin, Jigen, and Fujiko. They are my—my—”

He couldn't put the right word on his lips. Not with flowers in the way.

Goemon turned his head aside, heaving once more. A whole, wet chrysanthemum dropped at Fujiko's knees. She shrieked, scooting backwards from the mess. Her screams drew howling laughter from Jigen and Lupin. Goemon ducked down, letting Fujiko take a swing over his back and across their chests. He was just lucky that that same strike wasn't destined for his own skin.

"—partners." That term was balanced enough. Perhaps a touch vague, too. Goemon rose up once more, checking the contents of his lap. At least he hadn't squashed anything flat. "They have accompanied me because I…I am not well."

Silence breathed, as if the stone monument was going to speak.

"Please, do not fret." With that, Goemon picked up the first of his rucksack's contents. "I would like you to enjoy these."

Blunt nails pulled plastic apart. Soup splashed swamp-water warm against his fingertips. He leaned forward, pouring a majority of its contents into the first saucer at the grave's base. What was traditional in one bowl was heretical in the next. With careful, gentle pushes, Goemon stacked its contents not with rice, but sweets. Chocolate melted on his thumbs, smearing the inside of the bowl. He drew his fingers up to clean them, but grimaced, running them instead on the saucer's edges. This was not his food. It was for those who made it—those past and present in his company.

With clean hands, Goemon gestured behind him. "Jigen made these."

"Hi." Nerves had Jigen's fingers curled around the tip of his beard. "They're chocolate chip."

If she greeted him back, he couldn't tell.

"There is an interesting story about them, Sobo." Goemon placed the Tupperware aside, then locked his focus on his grandmother's grave. "They were created on accident. A chef had intended to make chocolate cookies, but she had no cocoa powder. So, she used chunks of chocolate instead. The results weren't as intended, but…"

A green tinge preceded another slop of chrysanthemum petals.

"Hey, now." Jigen's fingers took the back of Goemon's neck. He readjusted the samurai's head with a slow, smooth pull. "You get sick again, you aim over here."

Goemon nodded. "Sorry." He gulped in a breath, the edges of his shoulders shaking.

With two taps, Jigen stilled him. "Feels worse than it looks, doesn't it?" He braved the slime on Goemon's chin, drawing him back to his grandmother's attention. "Keep at it. We need to see roots come out."

Roots. Right. What was wrapping around his bronchial tubes. Or worse, what they were becoming. Goemon swallowed the bitterness in his mouth, getting back to the business of adorning his grandmother's grave. The more focus he gave to his task, the less he would feel the curse tearing at his organs.

Like Zantetsuken in its mount, Goemon placed his next gift onto his grandmother's grave. "Fujiko purchased these flowers for you."

"That's me!" She was far less embarrassed to be talking to a stone spike than Jigen was. "Do you know what your grandson wanted to get you? The same flowers he's coughing up now!"

Goemon's eyes widened. "Fujiko?"

"Well, sorry if they were your favorite. The stores were out." Fujiko continued gossiping, all too pleased to have the floor to herself. "But, I spoke with another woman, and she seemed to like these. Did you ever get to see stargazer lilies? I think they came from the United States!"

"Fujiko—"

"Sorry, again. You probably wouldn't have liked them, knowing that. But, they are really pretty." Long fingers patted on blue blooms intermingled with the pink lilies. "Maybe you would have liked the irises better? They're Greek! Named after the goddess of rainbows! So, even if you don't see a color here that you'd like, we meant to get you it! It's just—well, you know how shopping can go, right?"

"Fujiko, please—"

There was no stopping the Fujiko express once it had left the station. "At any rate, I hope you're listening to us. Or at least, to Goemon. It's so hard to get him to talk, sometimes." She flopped herself onto her right knee, leaning into her palm. "I think that's why he gets this curse worse than the rest of us. Men are awful about sharing their feelings on a normal day, and then when they get sick, they think they can just sweep their vomit under a rug and—”

That was enough to make Goemon gag again.

"See! Just like that!" Fujiko twisted around, then barked at Lupin. "Handkerchief, now!"

"Got it, got it." With a ruffle of fabric, Lupin pulled his handkerchief out of the lining of his jacket. He handed it to Goemon, letting him collect a little dignity as he cleaned off his face. It was hard not to stare at the mixed mess staining the cotton cloth. Black. Brown. Red. Colors that definitely should not be coming out of a human's mouth.

Shaking hands folded the stained handkerchief. It went not back to its owner, but within Goemon's robe. Cleaning it would be one more task he would need to do to make all of this right. Glass rattled as Goemon put the last of their offerings into a divot beside the grave. There, where sake should have sat, a pink label shimmered instead.

"Lupin?" Goemon lifted his head. "Do you wish to tell my grandmother your story?"

For once in his life, Lupin shut up. "You're supposed to be the one talking, not me."

"Very well." The samurai folded his fingers, then leveled his head once more. "There is a man—a detective—that pursues us. Lupin had the luck of meeting him today."

Luck wasn't the word Lupin would have used, but he kept clammed up.

"Since there was no sake to be found, Inspector Zenigata recommended this for you instead." Goemon nodded at the squat bottle. "His grandmother liked it, for what it is worth. And, as the fruit of wisdom, I think you would find some humor in it being fermented and repurposed as an alcoholic beverage."

Okay. That got a snicker out of Lupin.

Smirks spread like a wave through the group. Jigen's came up crooked, curling back on itself. Fujiko was picture-perfect, as always. If Lupin's mug wasn't simian enough, the small, hooting laugh escaping him sealed the deal on his mad monkey ways. The muscles in Goemon's face weren't so easily loosened. They drew up once, twice a little more.

Shrinking as he coughed mangled blooms.

It was hard for Goemon to look at the mess at his knees and not feel dread. This was wrong. He was supposed to come here years ago, pray quietly, bring all of the proper tools a visitation required. Not only was he marring his grandmother's grave with motley, mismatched offerings. He could do little more than shiver before her, retching, defiling the last of her presence with his illness.

The saddest part was that she would not have cared.

New fluid stained Goemon's face. It came not from his mouth, but his eyes. In every other place on the planet, he had to stay strong. Failure meant pain, suffering, death. These were punishments he was not supposed to fear. Still, it was hard to feel anything but wretched, letting them cut into his path again and again. Even now. Even when mistakes truly did not matter.

"Sobo," Goemon whispered. "I miss you."

She knew.

"You…you never cared when I failed." Humility drew the samurai lower to the earth. "You did not mind when I upset my masters. You didn't loathe me for failing my missions. You did not berate me for eschewing my responsibilities, discontinuing this name. You never doubted me or my ability, no matter what I did wrong."

Pain halved Goemon once again. It pushed through his throat, tearing muscle into vertical strips. The worst was coming. It was slicing across his tongue, the top of his mouth, his very senses. He balled up his fists, twisted his head aside, remembered to aim. To breathe.

Writhing, aching, he wept. "You loved me…unconditionally…in a way I did not understand."

Six hands tightened around him, ready for the worst.

"Now…I do."

It all came up in a gurgled heave.

The ball of vegetation that dropped out of Goemon's mouth seemed as big as his head. It splattered across Jigen's shoes, viscous slime dripping off leaves, stems, a tangle of roots. Fujiko screamed, then squealed, delighted and disgusted at the same time. Lupin leaned over, poking at the nauseating mess. He laughed as it plopped open before him. Goemon certainly had been keeping the worst inside him. It dyed white blooms as black as tar.

Hairy hands patted Goemon on the shoulder. "Wow, wow, wow!" Lupin leaned over, struggling to find Goemon's eyes between fallen hair and clenched eyelids. "Are you still in there? You didn't puke your brains out, did you?"

A pale palm rose up, swatting Lupin in the stomach.

"There's our boy." Jigen let his breath go. "All of this in just one day…"

Goemon panted, then opened his eyes. "A bad day."

"Well, it's a good day now!" Lupin scooped Goemon off the ground and onto his rear, finally taking his chance to address the samurai's grandmother. " _Ba-chan_ , thank you! You still work miracles, even if they are all disgusting!"

"Lupin."

"What?" Lupin grumbled. "I don't care what you say. Medicine isn't supposed to be made from earthworms, Goemon."

No. Not anymore. Not with modern medicine and little pills and Dramamine. Goemon listed in Jigen's direction, finally willing to submit himself to the muddling fog of drugs once again. "I would like another pill, please."

"Here." Two white tablets dropped into his palm. "Fujiko, grab that schnapps bottle. He'll need something to wash it down."

"Are you nuts?" she squealed. "Mixing pills and alcohol?"

Jigen waved her off. "Ah, just once won't kill him."

"Let's not deface my grandmother's grave any further." Goemon reached for the Tupperware he had tossed aside. "There are still leftovers."

Gangling limbs reached over Goemon, snatching the containers off the ground before the samurai could. Lupin tossed one aside, bouncing cookies off Fujiko's chest and into her lap. He opened the other, presenting its corner to Goemon's lips. With two careful gulps, both medicine and soup found their way down the war-torn path within him. It burned, but no worse than drinking schnapps would have.

"Hey." Lupin brushed a matted tendril of hair out of Goemon's face. "Are you good, now?"

One short nod was all Goemon needed to give.

" _Très bon_." The thief couldn't help but ruin the moment with his big, dumb smile. "You really meant all of that, didn't you?"

Goemon didn't need to speak any further. He just pointed to the mess he left, then grunted.

"Come on." Lupin mushed Goemon into his face. "Tell me what I want to hear."

Goemon turned his head away. "There are a multitude of ways a person can experience and express affection for others—"

"—And I will take every last one!" Lupin shouted. "You hear me? Every! Last! One!"

Sanity snatched Lupin by the back of his jacket. With an unceremonious plop, Jigen dumped Lupin at Fujiko's side. He crossed his arms, unamused by his theatrics being upstaged once again. A single cookie propped in the corner of his mouth changed his tune. It was no fun, having his partners being total killjoys. At least they made good cookies.

Jigen leaned over, pulling one more man off the ground. "We'd better get going. This one's got about fifteen minutes before the drugs kick in, and I'm not carrying him back."

"That is wholly unnecessary." Goemon folded his rucksack up once more, his emotions tucked away just as neatly. "I will not burden you further today."

"It's not a burden if it's for my partner!" Lupin chirped. "Right, Fujiko?"

"Well, that depends." She dusted her chest clean of Lupin's crumbs, then helped herself to a cookie. "If I'm painting my nails, and you're calling in the middle of them drying, that can ruin an hour's worth of work. Oh, and salon visits! A good dye takes me at least four hours! So, if you have any emergencies during any of my appointments—"

"Geez, woman," Jigen huffed. "What other stipulations do you have?"

"Look, don't pretend like we don't all have our own things." Fujiko's liberation was fierce, shameless. It wasn't without its own cracks. Sincerity smothered the fire in her blood, but not before it burned her pink in the face. "However, I suppose I might feel the teeniest, tiniest bit bad if any of you bit the dust while I wasn't there to watch you die."

A twisted smirk tilted Jigen's head. "Love you too, honey."

Where Lupin crowed with laughter, Goemon held his tongue. Perhaps he was desperate or naïve, taking in his fellow thieves like family. Such flaws had pinned him under heels high and flat before. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much thought he put into what he did, enlightenment was a treasure Goemon could not take. But, being in the company of his contrary companions was a magnificent consolation prize. One he enjoyed more than gold or floral wreaths.

He'd certainly had his fill of flowers.

Others, however, were running on empty. "Whaddya guys say? Want to get a pizza, when we get back?"

"What?" Jigen laughed. "Are you trying to make Goemon throw up again?"

The samurai flushed. No, no more of this. He'd troubled his friends plenty enough, today. "Pizza is fine."

"Pizza is great, thank you very much," Lupin corrected him.

"Could we at least try to get a proper pizza this time?" Fujiko whined. "At least, something with basil or mushrooms on it!"

Jigen rolled his eyes. "Pizza only needs one topping, and that's pepperoni."

"You guys! You have such limited definitions when it comes to pizza!" Lupin clapped his hands together, his grin as devious as when they were on a job. "You know what's great? Ham and dried pineapple! Tastes just like candy!"

"Boss," Jigen groaned, "You're a freak."

Like that label offended Lupin. "That's what all the ladies say!"

At least one lady had an opposing opinion on that statement. "Please!"

Their squabbling spun on, only one staying silent as they left Iga Village's graveyard. Even his mute amusement faded with the last of his steps. In such hot, heavy silence, the language of vegetation and the dead took domain over the graveyard, becoming one and the same. Moss etched the names of those who had fallen into their roots. Grass pushed up, rising from dust and ash. Leaves swayed, burned, fell away with the autumn breeze.

All in the graveyard was as it had been for thousands of years. All but the audacious display of flowers raised and fallen around the tomb of one woman.

Such a mess never offended her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to say nothing personal is here, but something is. 
> 
> I worry that I don't process death like I should. But, dead people just don't leave your life. Sometimes, when I see a certain smile, I think of my paternal grandfather. I have dreams where I still talk to my aunt. My great aunt passed away recently, but I still dreamt about her starring in a play. I don't get to go out and visit any of my dead relatives or friends like I should. Partly because their graves are hours away from me, and partly because this whole year sucks, dude. But, I still think about them and mourn them--sometimes, even the bastards.
> 
> I guess that's why I took this concept of Hanahaki Disease to explore what it's like when someone just can't get that reciprocal emotion. I mean, it's one thing to have unrequited or rejected love. But, loving someone who is physically and mortally not there? It's a difficult situation. Maybe not even one that's supposed to be escaped. But, hell. Despite everything, I still try to be optimistic. 
> 
> Well, this note has been dour. Time for rainbows. 🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈
> 
> Thanks for reading. I appreciate your time and hope this helped, in some fashion. Go read yourself something happy after this, mmkay? Maybe some PWP.


End file.
